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Making A Point

To be around the newly departed is to know that the spirit hangs with the body for a time before departing. This awareness surely is the origin of the wake.

I didn’t know him well, he’s been too ill for new intimate connections, but through his family and friends I got to know a generous and funny man.

He liked to make me laugh with his snide asides growled through his incessant mortal pain.

He’s downstairs right now, lying there adorned by nurses and family in clothes and oddities that were his own unique style in life. Eerie to be in the attic as he lies down below – his spirit fluttering through us as it ascends.

We feel blessed by him and when we played for his hovering spirit we felt that he passed something to us, and in the future, we will think of this moment as one of the powerful impetuses lifting us up to soar.

Life for us has changed so much. A month ago we were fighting for our creative lives against oppressive fascist parental influences and now amongst our tribe we are resurging like never before.

Clearly to be full realized one must kill one’s parents (not literally).

How can we gather a clapping crowd in the midst of empty Golden Gate Park? Magical, truly magical!

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One thought on “Making A Point”

One more story at an end. Our lives are like blades of grass, and unfortunately, probably not much more. We wave in the wind, but in the end, very few will remember us. I think this is what makes me so sour about life; all this fucking garbage, only to become a pile of dust that will be forgotten.